Honeybell
by Inon
Summary: After a brutal car accident in the bayou, Joseph Bell awakens in the Baker household, rescued by Jack, cared for by Marguerite, and mingling with Lucas, Zoe, Mia, and their third daughter, Eveline, who takes a liking to him. She wants him to join the family, but he isn't interested. Angered, the Baker family's sweet Southern charm rapidly rots when Eveline refuses to let Joseph go.
1. Lost Memory

Hello, internet! Inon, here.

I must say that I am quite excited to present my first story. I am a massive Resident Evil fan, but found my interest waning around 5 and 6. 4 was absolutely incredible. But when I saw the trailer for 7, I about jumped on my couch and threw a rave.

I was definitely not disappointed. Resident Evil 7 has got to be the best game I have ever played - it is such a unique, intriguing, and surprisingly deep, terrifying, visceral experience. If you haven't gotten the chance to pick it up, I strongly recommend it. I hope my writing does the game its due justice.

In light of that, I offer up a quick warning before you read. Resident Evil 7 is an _extremely mature_ game, but I have cleaned this narrative a bit. All the same be prepared for some strong language, a bit of blood and gore, and some violence and scary imagery.

All in all, I am very eager to show this off. Please enjoy _Honeybell,_ where we open with Ethan discovering some artefacts of one of the Bakers' victims. I wanted to open with Ethan to show off the juxtaposition between the world he finds himself in, and the world of the victim, whose story will be told in _Honeybell._

Cheers, and happy reading! Thanks.

* * *

The whining of the old door's hinges scratched across the stale air as it slowly drifted open.

My knuckles tensed around the pistol's trigger. I peered through the doorway into the dark main hall of the house, my heartbeat quickening for a moment before ultimately slowing.

Nothing new since I left. Good.

The room was quiet - all but for the weak chorus of crickets and cicadas outside - and ungodly still. I knew the place almost too well; I knew every squeaky floorboard, the sickly sweet smell of the rotten food on the table, the maddening ticking of the grandfather clock. I knew the room enough to ignore the rotating shadow of the chopping blades of the desk fan against the wall. When you're fighting for your life, you find you get to know a madhouse _extremely_ well all at once.

Nothing to point my pistol at. For now, at least.

My eyes trailed over the static furniture and towards the next item on my agenda: the door on the level above me. Not about an hour before, as Jack stalked me upstairs, I caught a glance of a shotgun sitting in one of the locked rooms, and I was hellbent on getting my hands on it.

But something didn't sit right with me about the situation. There was another shotgun, sitting in painfully plain sight just to my left. It taunted me as I stared it down from where I stood. I had flocked to grab it when I first laid eyes on it, but those twisted psychopaths had rigged it with some sort of trap that locked the door behind you the moment you took the gun from a statue's hands. I tried all that I could to cheat the system and break out with the gun in-hand, but nothing came of it. I couldn't save Mia stuck in that little room, so I had to let it go.

The other shotgun was my best bet. I knew what I had to do to get it, but the Bakers were just as clever as they were insane, forcing me to slog through their horrific, gore-slathered basement to retrieve the special key for the door. And now that I had paid my supply box a visit, I was armed to the teeth and ready to get what I needed to blast my way out of this hellhole.

As gently as I could, I pushed the scorpion-studded door shut behind me, keeping my eyes trained ahead. Once it clicked shut, I froze, listening. Still nothing. Still silent. I prayed to God it would stay that way. I had the deputy's knife and all the handgun bullets I possessed crammed into my pockets. When those ran out, I was next.

With the coast clear, I made my move.

I had only crept my way to the table in the centre of the room before the double doors on my right exploded open. I leapt back with a jolt, stumbling and gasping as Jack thundered his way inside, grinning from ear to ear, a barbed wire-wrapped rake in his fists.

His eyes were alight with a crazed, unhinged fire as he hooted, "Well there you are, Ethan! Was wonderin' where you'd slithered off to!"

"Shit!" I hissed to myself. I didn't wait for him to move, letting off a few shots blindly into him as I broke into a mad sprint for the stairs behind me.

Just like in the garage, he shrugged off the bullets like they were nothing. I still couldn't comprehend it. He had been impaled on a steel girder, engulfed in live fire, and blown his own head clean off. And yet, here this old man was, perfectly intact, as if nothing had happened.

I remembered him mentioning something about a "gift" he had received. I shuddered to think what that "gift" was doing for him. It wasn't natural.

He gave his neck a sickening crack and assumed his grip on his rake before pursuing me. "Oh, come on, now, don't be that way, boy!" he jeered airily. His boots boomed against the stained wood flooring as he drove himself forward. "Why not enjoy a little southern hospitality? After all, we were so dearly kind to offer it to you."

Ignoring him, I tore my way up the stairs, my gaze flickering between the door at the end of the landing and the shadowy figure of Jack crossing the floor, beginning his ascent on the staircase. He called from below, "Now, if you don't cooperate, Ethan, I'm gonna have to squash you like a bug." He then gave an idiotic guffaw. "Hope Marguerite didn't hear that…"

"Get away from me!" I hollered back, whipping around and firing a bullet that rocketed directly into his Adam's apple.

My heart skipped a beat; Jack's footsteps died. I couldn't help but gape for a moment at my shooting when I reached the top of the stairs. Miraculously, the bullet had stopped Jack in his tracks. He cupped the bullet hole while drowning on the blood bubbling out of his throat.

But in spite of my lucky shot, it wasn't enough to strike him down. Not even close. He merely wiped his hand off on his chest, gritted his teeth, and locked gazes with me as the wound sealed itself up. My eyes widened.

He casually spat out a mouthful of blood into the stairs, growling gutturally, "Now you've gone and done it! You're a dead man, you hear me?!"

"Oh, fuck…" I groaned, making another dash across the landing, never daring to sneak a glance over my shoulder. The high-ceilinged room echoed with the pounding of our feet, the rapid sounds rampaging through the air with each step. If the others didn't know where I was, before, then they sure as hell knew now. That was all I needed - more bloodthirsty hicks all itching to slice me open and cook up my entrails.

But if I could just get to that shotgun… Then maybe I'd have a chance. I wasn't going down without a fight.

I had one advantage over Jack, thank God. I was faster. Definitely not stronger, but faster. I made it to the door in a few seconds flat, just about bashing it down when I eased up a little on my breakneck pace to go in, swivel around, and close it behind me.

Before I slammed the door shut, I caught sight of Jack, just reaching the peak of the stairs. He brandished the barb-wrapped rake when he met my eyes, crooning, "Run and hide all you like, Ethan. Either way, I'm gonna find you, and I am gonna _enjoy_ shovin' _this_ up your city-boy ass!"

He then charged forward, giving me a split second to duck into the hall, kick the door in, and haul a nearby table over to barricade it. I threw off the trinkets on top of the table, tilting it on its end and propping it up against the door's handle. I knew it wouldn't hold long - not against Jack - but at least it bought me a bit of extra time to get the shotgun. Then I'd blow that manic grin off of his face. My trigger finger itched to pay him back for all he had put me through.

I didn't hesitate to take off as fast as I could push my legs, hurtling onto the darkened wraparound porch and skidding around a corner towards the family's recreation room. Just as I reached the threshold, a window-rattling thud sounded from outside the barricaded door, raking at my racing heart.

My head jerked over in its direction as Jack yelled through the walls, "Knock, knock, Ethan! You and I ain't through, yet!"

I didn't wait for the table to fail; I didn't have the time to. Darting into the rec room, I immediately banked a left, accidentally knocking into the billiard's table as I headed for the door with the disquieting array of scorpion shells adorning its surface. Shoving the key into the heavy iron lock, I gave it a sharp twist, shoving the door open and diving inside just as my makeshift barricade splintered and shattered. Jack easily shoved it aside; the table hit the outer wall with such force that it knocked a vase off of a nightstand in the small bedroom I found myself in.

In that same moment, I kicked the scorpion door shut - the weighty slamming of the door and the shattering of the vase were thankfully masked by the tremendous crash of the outside door opening.

A heavy pair of boots announced their presence with a great thump that rocked the rickety walls.

"Here's Daddyyyy!" Jack cried, a disturbed excitement accenting his tone.

My body went completely rigid at that point, my heart racing even faster than before. Part of me knew I was currently huddled behind a locked door. All the same, however, there was no guarantee that Jack couldn't bust his way inside. The lock was old and partially rusted for one thing, but I wasn't entirely sure if _any_ lock could hold its own against him and his superhuman strength.

I realised all too late that I had foolishly run myself into a corner. "Shit," I breathed, running a hand through my sticky, sweaty hair.

I did, in a sense, have the upper hand on the situation, if I really stopped to think about it, and that fact calmed my ragged nerves slightly: Jack didn't know where I was. If I was quiet enough, he may not ever find me. He might not even know I had the scorpion key.

And, of course, there was a shotgun within arm's reach of where I stood.

I brought my head around to look at it. It sat propped against the doorframe, almost inviting me to pick it up. A small box of shotgun shells laid beside the grainy finish of its stock on the old vanity.

An involuntary smile spread across my lips at the sight of it, my blood igniting with a hopeful fire. That shotgun was going to change my crazy, fucked up world. And only for the better. Now with a little extra vigour in my cause, I approached the vanity and took up the shotgun in my hands. It filled me a rush of joy to hold it, my palms practically tingling from the firepower emanating from it.

I inspected it closer. Polished well, no rust. The gun was in excellent condition… at least it _appeared_ to be, right up until I checked to see if it was loaded.

My heart dropped into my stomach when the gun outright _fell apart_ in my hands. It almost snapped in half at the chamber, only managing to stay together on a hinge. I froze, choking at the sight of the broken weapon. This was the last thing I was expecting. This gun was supposed to be the godsend I desperately needed. This gun was going to change the tides of my hellish night at the Baker estate.

Well, I was fucked. What was I going to do?!

I didn't get the chance to deliberate on the matter, for Jack's deep footsteps began to echo through the house, slowly, dangerously. They were growing louder. My gaze flew to the window on the far wall, through which I could see the hall outside. If Jack caught sight of me through the window, my cover was blown. He'd barge in and spear me through the throat with that rake, for sure. And without enough firepower, and in such a small room… I _definitely_ was fucked.

I had to hide - and fast.

My body seemed to throw itself into gear, making a quick pivot around an end table by the door until I came to a stop with my back against the soggy, peeling wallpaper. My handgun at the ready, I pressed myself into the wall, sucking in a panicked breath, and holding it.

Through a chair balanced on the table, I managed a peek through its legs to the window. A bead of sweat snaked down the back of my neck as I watched, with bated breath, as Jack slowly prowled across the glass, his teeth borne and his eyes squinted behind his glasses, as he searched for any trace of me. Just like I had thought, he didn't bother looking into this room. He must have figured I didn't have the key to get in. Lucky me.

A small wave of relief washed over me as he disappeared beyond the window.

My back slumped a little, my knees growing suddenly weak. Now out of immediate danger, I sunk to the floor, a deep sigh of ease emptying my lungs. For a moment or two, I simply sat there, closing my eyes and allowing my mind and body to relax as much as I was able.

Jack's footsteps gradually grew fainter as he searched the other rooms. As long as I stayed quiet, he wouldn't be bothering me anytime soon.

After my quick breather, I reopened my eyes and frowned, crestfallen, into the busted shotgun. There was absolutely no way I'd be able to use this thing to defend myself. It was useless. Even _if_ I managed to fire a shot, the kickback alone would rend it completely in half. With my hope now as broken as the gun, I glumly looked around the room, unsure of what to do next.

But while looking around, I began to wonder if maybe there was a repair kit, somewhere. There had to be, if the gun was broken, right? A family like the Bakers - on a plantation, farming, probably hunting at one point in time - was bound to have something like that. Eager to fix the shotgun, I set it down and rose from the floor, pocketing my pistol before sifting through the many drawers and cabinets crammed into the room.

I didn't find anything of too much value. At first. Most of the drawers were either empty or filled with old, ratty clothes, blankets, dead moths and empty picture frames. This had to have been the shrivelled old woman's room I had met at the gruesome dinner table; it had that stereotypical old lady must, and upon opening one of the drawers I was greeted with a mouldy set of dentures that had me recoiling. Definitely Grandma Baker's.

No repair kit, so far, though. In spite of everything, I did find a pack of chem fluid, which would definitely be put to good use, and a box of handgun ammo. I made sure to pick up the shotgun shells, too, vowing I would get myself a shotgun no matter what.

It was only when I went through the nightstand near the filthy bed that something caught my eye.

On the nightstand, by an old lamp, sat a big, black DSLR camera. The kind that professional photographers use. My eyebrows crinkled at the sight of it. It looked out of place amidst the decrepit objects in the room, due to it actually being in decent condition, even with the lens missing and the batteries long dead.

As I turned it over in my hand, I found a small shred of normal human existence on the side: contact info for the owner, blanketed by a thick layer of dust. Wiping it away with my thumb, the letters were difficult to make out in the low light of the bedroom, but I managed to read:

 _If found, please return to Joseph Bell, 1645 Whiterock Road, Houston, Texas, 77012_

My heart sank, my blood growing cold. No doubt this used to belong to another victim of the Bakers, just like the poor people in the morgue. God only knew what the Bakers had done to Joseph. If it was anything like I'd been through, it must have been pure, unapologetic torture. A shiver slithered its way up my spine as my mind began to wander into macabre places.

The camera and its owner piqued my interest, however, taking me from an unsettling, dark corner of my thoughts. I hadn't found much trace of the other victims throughout the house other than notes on scraps of paper, scrawled out in desperation. This camera was a solid chunk of history, in my hand.

Questions began to fly through my mind. How had Joseph ended up here? Texas was a whole state away - what had brought him to Louisiana? How had he fallen into the Baker's hands? I knew _my_ story, but found myself becoming incredibly curious at his. The stress of Jack patrolling the outside halls seemed to melt away as I set the camera down, delving into the drawers for answers.

I didn't have to search long to satisfy my intrigue. In the top drawer of the nightstand, after prying it open - some mold had grown in the wood and blocked it from sliding out - I found a few more memories of Joseph Bell, each object just as mystifying as the last.

The first was an old, wrinkled tuxedo shirt, carelessly stuffed into a wad on the bottom of the drawer next to a large, sealed mason jar containing what looked to be a fist-sized, misshapen black rock. Next to that, a scuffed, threadbare pair of men's dress shoes. One of the shirt's buttons had been torn off. It was shredded at the bottom hem, and its white dye had faded to a nauseous yellow, bearing various stains in several places - they seemed to be dried blood and some sort of pitch-black substance splattered across the front.

The shirt took me back to my wedding; I had worn an almost identical shirt the day I married Mia. Perhaps a bit unsurprisingly, a dull, titanium wedding ring rattled around inside one of the shoes, smeared with some of the same black sludge I kept finding throughout the property.

My stomach began to churn as I continued to sift through the drawer. In the other shoe was a frayed, rolled-up, black-and-white photograph, printed on decent paper. I slipped it out and smoothed it to better look at the two subjects in it. The photograph was spattered with the black substance, but I could nonetheless make out the faces printed on it.

I first noticed the man, offering the camera an almost invisible curl of his lip as a smile. He looked to be about my age, with a kind face, wide cheekbones, dark, styled hair and light, bright eyes. His jawline was rather angular, and the bridge of his nose was slightly crooked.

Tucked close beside him was a lovely young woman, with a full head of long, thick, jet-black hair. She had a soft, rounded nose and tired, pale, sunken eyes, yet her smile was wide and dreamy. I could tell she was in love - probably with the man next to her. Sometimes you could just tell. My mother had said the same thing about me when Mia and I started dating.

Maybe this was a photo of Joseph Bell and his girl? Maybe the both of them had stumbled into the claws of the Bakers? Perhaps on their honeymoon, or something? But of all places, why had their stuff ended up in here? In a locked room, hidden from everyone?

Puzzled, I flipped over the photograph. There wasn't a pair of names, as I had suspected. Just one, written in flowy, black penmanship in the corner.

 _Honeybell._


	2. Swamped

Welcome back, ladies and gentlemen!  
I hope you enjoyed the previous chapter. Perhaps you came back to find out just what Honeybell meant? In time, I will show you, but for now, allow me to introduce Joseph Bell, our protagonist.  
Please enjoy...

* * *

 _Dulvey, Louisiana, 2014_

A torrential deluge of rain lashed like a whip against the windshield, the roar of the storm flooding my ears to the point that I could barely hear myself think.

I squinted through the rippling curtain of water till my forehead hurt, flicking the windshield wipers up to full speed. But I quickly came to realise that no amount of speed on their part would make any difference. They didn't clear away any water, only agitating the constant sheet of rain dumping onto my car, making it all but impossible to see.

Worried about possibly hitting something, I eased my foot down into the brakes and slowed the wipers, giving a defeated sigh and rubbing a knuckle into my dry, stinging eyes. My stomach turned over as I snuck a glance at the clock in the dashboard. It was almost midnight. I had been driving nonstop for about four hours, now, leaving wide-skied Texas behind for the muggy wetlands of Louisiana when I had gotten swallowed up in this storm of biblical proportions. And it didn't look to be letting up anytime soon.

Perhaps foolishly, my car plodded steadily through the downpour, the overworked engine rattling the hood and my rearview mirror. I hadn't seen another car in ages. My phone was almost dead. I was getting hungry.

All in all, I was hopelessly, god-forsakenly lost. Ironically enough, this afternoon, that had been all that I wanted. To get away. To get lost. But now… I wasn't so sure. I must have taken an odd turn, somewhere. The open road was quickly becoming more of a prison than a freedom the longer I drove it through the humid, dense undergrowth of the bayou.

With a groan, I breathed, "What am I doing...?" as memories of that afternoon bled back into my mind. Meeting my petrified reflection in the bedroom mirror, the sickening anxiety roiling in my stomach, holding the car keys in my shaking hands, ignoring the frenzied buzzing of my phone… It all made my gut writhe even worse. I felt like I was about to be sick again.

I just couldn't do it. I didn't dare explore my inner thoughts any further than I had to. Not now. Not after what I did.

Reaching under my collar to rub my stiff neck, I thought instead about what options laid before me on the road. There was no way my old car could outrun this rain. I don't know what had possessed me to believe that earlier. It had already been sputtering its way along even before the rain started to pour.

And on top of the rising garbage fire of problems that was my life, I was getting drowsy. I couldn't take it anymore. I had to stop.

But as far as I could see - which wasn't very far at all - there wasn't any sign of civilisation other than the town I had left behind me about half an hour back. Dulvey, I think it was. Small town, nothing much in it except for a rundown gas station, a hardware store, the parish sheriff's station, and a Walmart at the town limits.

But maybe I had missed a motel, or something? I hadn't stopped for long. And with the way my mind had been racing as I passed through, I was bound to have overlooked more of the town.

With another glance at the clock, I bit my lip, holding back a yawn. I couldn't afford to make another stupid decision, today. Not this late. I had to turn back and find a place to spend the night before I got myself stranded. That would just be the cherry on top of a perfect, fucked-up day.

Like a waterlogged snail, my haggard Toyota Century crawled its way down a forgotten country road in the middle of nowhere, slogging through the muck and the downpour. My head swivelled this way and that as I tried to find a means to turn the car around, but I could barely make out anything beyond my headlights. The light reflected blindingly against the barrage of raindrops pelting the car like bullets. All I could manage to see through the rain were the reflections of the swollen bogs and the figures of the thick vegetation walling me in on either side of the muddy road.

There didn't look to be any offshoots nearby. Guess I'd have to make my own. At least the road was widening, here.

I hit the brakes as gently as I could to ease into a stop, but without enough traction in the wet conditions, my car skidded several feet forward, swerving drunkenly around the road. A surge of panic exploded in my chest as I clenched the steering wheel, stamping on the brake pedal, pleading, "Shit - no - stop! No, no, no - stop, stop! STOP!"

Somehow, the car listened and squelched to a halt, allowing me time to shift gears. After taking a minute to compose myself, I took a quick survey of the area, and, finding it safe to move, pumped the accelerator. To my dread, the car remained planted onto the swampy road, its tires spinning worthlessly, slinging mud into the air. A rogue glob even splattered into one of my side mirrors.

"No… No, you've gotta be kidding me…" I breathed, grasping the steering wheel till my fingers went numb.

I punched the accelerator again and again, the engine shrieking in protest, but I only succeeded in sinking the car deeper. "C'mon, C'MON!" I screamed. "MOVE!"

No use. Eyes widening, a hollow chill tickled my skin, my heart plummeting straight into my stomach.

 _Oh, I am so fucked,_ I thought.

This was just what I had feared was going to happen. Banging my forehead onto the steering wheel with an exasperated grunt, I inwardly punched myself, a spate of questions flitting wildly about in my mind.

I hadn't made too many brilliant decisions, recently, but how could I have been _this_ stupid?! Why hadn't I turned around sooner? Why hadn't I stopped in town? Dulvey was plenty far away from Houston. What in the ever living hell was I thinking, driving this late, in this unrelenting rain?!

"Ugh, you're an _idiot,_ Joseph!" I yelled. "You're such a _fucking idiot!"_ Giving the horn several frustrated pounds from my fist, I began to shake off my black tuxedo jacket with a huff, begrudgingly readying myself to plunge into the monsoon to push the car. Undoing my seatbelt, I draped my jacket over my head, kicked the door open, and stepped out into the thick, musty downpour.

The icy, gritty mud greedily swallowed my shoes the second I put them down. With a shiver, I felt the mud ooze its way into my socks, my teeth grinding as the rain dumped onto me from seemingly all directions. After only a moment, I was soaked to the bone, as if I had just stood in a shower fully clothed. There went my nice clothes. So much for the jacket.

"Perfect," I fumed. "Just perfect. How could this day get _any better?!"_ I roared at the rain, giving the car's bumper a swift kick that only earned me a throbbing toe. Still cursing, I forcefully wrenched my feet out of the mud, step by step, towards the back of the car.

Well, at least one thing went right for me that night, I guess; I thanked my lucky stars that I was angry, the ground was slick, and that I enjoyed bench pressing. As wet and cold as I was, I still managed to push the car, back wheels first, around through the muck, but eventually my strength gave out. Still, the car was only one simple turn of the steering wheel away from facing the road out of the swamp, so I at least had _that_ going for me.

I leaned against the car's body for a minute or two, letting the rain cool my temper and my muscles. After using the heels of my shoes to dredge up my tires, I felt I was decently ready to drive out of the swamp. I was filthy, yes, and totally soaked, but I was ready. I looked forward to hopefully taking a warm shower if I found a motel in Dulvey. If not, I guessed I'd sleep in the car. At least I wouldn't be sleeping in the middle of the swamp.

Now smiling a little instead of scowling, I gave the trunk a light pat, eager to get back on the main road. "All right, let's get out of here…" I muttered.

But just as I was about to head back into the car, an uncanny chill - and not from the rain - darted up my spine. I froze in my tracks, unable to shake the feeling that someone was watching me.

Twisting around, I strained my eyes through the thickets to see if there was anybody out there, but the rain and the inky darkness outside of the headlight beams obscured most of my surroundings from view.

"H-hello?" I chattered, my pulse beginning to quicken. My eyes wandered towards the cavernous black maw of the overgrown old road behind me, sending a dagger of fear through my heart. "Anybody there?"

No reply came. Whether someone was there, or if they heard me or not through the crashing rain, I couldn't tell. Regardless, the mounting discomfort beginning to slither into my veins spurred me forward; I cautiously slogged my way into the car, keeping my eyes peeled for any movement through the running windows.

I hit the seat with a watery _slap,_ drenching the worn fabric beneath me as I swiftly shut the door. My clothes shed their water in droves down into the front seat and the cup holders, kickstarting several miniature floods. A dull sigh escaped my nostrils. The interior of the car would no doubt be in grisly condition when it dried out, but, at the very least, the thing was functional. That was all that mattered. I could hose it out later.

As I reached over my shoulder for the seatbelt, I lifted my gaze from my lap to the windshield. Through the watery glass, I abruptly came face to face with a sight that sucked the breath from my lungs for a good heart-stopping second. Of all the things I'd expected to see driving through the bayou - gnarled trees, lily pads and ponds, maybe even a couple of alligators - this definitely wasn't one of them.

There was a young woman standing, unmoving, in front of my headlights. Her piercing eyes were trained on me between the sopping sheets of her long, coal-black hair, her dark clothes adhering to her slim body from the rain. She didn't blink at all during the tense moments in which we stared at each other; she didn't even seem to notice she was standing in a torrential storm, casually letting the rain roll off of her rigid frame.

Her sudden presence startled me into a temporary paralysis. All I could do was watch her, confused and slightly frightened, as she continued to watch me.

She seemed to have appeared from the bog itself. Maybe it had been _her_ eyes that I could feel on me before? But how had I not seen her approach the car?

Now curious enough to overcome my fear, I rolled my window down, sticking my head out and hollering over the thunder filling the sky, "Hey! Are you all right, miss?!"

She didn't reply, but she did move, tilting her head to the side as if intrigued by me, blinking. A stunning, wide smile flowed across her pale lips; I thought I saw her giggle a little as she turned her head to her right, looking down the overgrown road, before coming back around to face me.

I almost called out to her again, but not before a bright flash tore through the dark car, garnering a short shout of surprise from me. Giving a slight jump from where I sat, my head snapped away from the woman and to my right, where I caught a glimpse of my phone bursting with light on the passenger seat, vibrating urgently.

On instinct, I snatched the phone up into my shaking, soggy hand, brushing a glance with the screen. My blood iced over - I recognised the numbers displayed on it. It was a Texas number. Moreover, I recognised the face of the person calling me.

Her.

A tiny part of me broke inside, goading me to answer the call, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. Not now. Maybe not ever. I clicked the phone off, watching her disappear, pulling my gaze from it and back to the windshield.

My breath caught again as I stared, stupefied, out the window. Just as quickly as she had appeared, the tall, dark-haired woman vanished without a trace.

"What in the…?" I breathed, bewildered, searching feverishly between the streaming windows for she had gone to. But she was nowhere to be found. I briefly wondered if I had imagined her.

But why would I dream up the image of a spooky woman in the middle of the bayou? Was I really that tired? I certainly didn't feel like it - my eyes and my brain were wide awake. If it weren't for the rain, I probably could've driven all night, after seeing her.

With a quick shake of my head, I right myself back into reality, checking the clock again. It was a few minutes past midnight.

Damn, I really needed to get back into town.

Attempting to fight off a lingering sense of unease, I cranked the car into gear as another clap of thunder shook the skies. The sound was, remarkably, powerful enough to rattle my car. And my car _continued_ to rattle, the thunder booming through the air, growing louder and louder with each passing second I paused to marvel at it.

But something wasn't right. I had never heard thunder this… drawn out, before. It only got stronger, crescendoing into a deep, ground-shaking quake that got to be so tremendous, that I barely had time to register what was actually happening until it was too late.

A hooked bolt of lightning sliced through the boiling grey sky above me, illuminating a colossal, twisting black tidal wave of mud, tree trunks, and stone barrelling down a hillside, straight toward me.

"WHAT THE FU - ?!"

I only managed to blurt out half a sentence before the mudslide slammed into the car, drowning it in a chaotic sea of filth and debris. It poured into the open window, filling the front seats, submerging me in a suffocating darkness.

The mudslide's onslaught was harrowingly mighty - it punched the front of the car almost in half, both of my legs snapping like toothpicks under the weight of the buckling metal. My mouth was so full of mud I couldn't properly scream, only a bloody burbling escaping my throat as the car was swept up entirely. The mud heaved itself up underneath the chassis, sending the car and myself rolling along with it as it rampaged across the road.

My ears rang with the shrieking of shattering glass and the hideous metallic grinding of the car as it began to tumble with the mudslide down a hill I hadn't noticed in the darkness. I was thrown around the car like laundry in a dryer, cracking my head against the ceiling, my neck crumpling horrifically beneath the blow. As the car wildly spun its way down the hill, plowing through trees, I could only feel myself being tossed hectically throughout it, a different body part erupting in pain with each rotation. My shoulder crunched out of place hitting the headrest; one of my knees was jerked out from beneath the wheel and forced through the windshield; my spine broke open with a sickening _crack_ as I landed roughly onto the gear stick. As I continued rolling, a head-splitting pressure swelled within my skull, my brain threatening to blow out of my forehead.

Rolling uncontrollably into the night, I lost track of reality after a while, slipping into a sort of bloody daze. I still felt as if the car was moving, though everything had gone silent. My head continued spinning, to the point that I almost didn't even notice that the mudslide had stopped. It was the frigid trickle of something spilling onto my face that anchored me, rousing me out of my stupor.

My eyelids peeled open, fluttering almost instantly as they were flushed with water dripping from the splintered remains of the back window. Through an immediate rush of bleary realisation, I found that, by some miracle, I had survived the mudslide, ending up crammed between the seats, my head resting on the back row. My legs were splayed out in the front seats, buried, just like my arms, beneath a foul-smelling slurry of blood, water, mud, and fragments of the bayou filling the car. From what I could see, more water dribbled gradually in from one of the partially-submerged doors.

Cattails waved in the swampy breeze through one of the windows. I tried to lift my head to get a better look at them, to maybe figure out where I was, but my body locked up in the act. A soft, garbled groan of agony escaped my burning, gravelly throat. Every ounce, every vein, every fibre of my body screamed in tortured unison, the pain steadily rising the longer I laid in my totalled car.

I couldn't move. I couldn't move _at all._ White hot fear surged like untameable wildfire through my broken veins, my breath heightening from brisk, pained draws to a sporadic gasping the more terrified I became. And it only hurt worse to breathe that scatteredly. I began to cough and sputter from the pain, my lungs seeming to fill with blood and swamp water, drowning me where I laid.

No one would find me here. No one even knew where I was. I was out sinking in a wrecked car in the middle of boggy nowhere. I would die, here, no doubt about it.

As a petrifying tunnel vision began to set in, my body grew colder and colder till I became numb. I stared helplessly into the warped ceiling, hyperventilating, praying to whatever God I still believed in to be saved by some kind of miracle. But after what I had done today, I feared this was my punishment.

Die, Joseph Bell. Die broken and alone, just like her. You know you deserve it, you cowardly bastard.

Thick, almost tangible shadows began to ravenously devour my blurring vision. Oh fuck, this was it. I could see the light already, growing brighter and hotter… but then the light split into two. Two separate spots of amber lights were advancing towards me from beyond one of the windows, and… they were speaking. I couldn't make out what they were saying.

...what the hell? I was losing it.

No, I wasn't hallucinating. The two spots of light bobbed rather excitedly, rushing to me. As they came closer, the light in the back of the pair illuminated the silhouette of a tall, burly man, tromping hurriedly towards me in heavy boots. I could hear them dunking through the water leaking into the car.

The man reached me, stooping slightly to fit his head through the fractured window. He shone his light on me. My bruised, battered face and eyes recoiling. I couldn't make out his shadowed face, but I heard him gasp in a thick southern drawl, "Mother of God, she was right…"

The second light crowded up behind him. It belonged to a skinnier man, with a bony profile, draped with a hooded, plastic poncho. He cringed, "Shit, daddy, what are we gonna do? Ain't no way we're gettin' him outta there!"

The bigger man turned to him, shaking his head. "Well we gotta try, at least. Can't leave the poor thing in there. C'mon, help me with th'door."

As the darkness continued to swallow my vision, I watched, through drooping eyelids, as the two men frantically pried the dented rear door from its hinges, jumping back as the car disgorged a wave of mud and debris. The first man handed the second his flashlight, ordering him to shine it on me before reaching in and grabbing me by the wrists.

"Don't worry. I got you, son," he consoled tenderly. His voice, as far away as it sounded, soothed me a little. He spoke to me like a father would.

The man pulled on my wrists with all his might, inadvertently tearing my dislodged shoulder further out of its socket with a gut-wrenching snap of my ligaments. I sucked in a ragged breath, howling till my lungs gave out as the man continued dragging my limp, mangled body out of the car, apologising for hurting me as he did so.

"I know it hurts, son, I know, but we need to get you out. Just hang in there, I'm sorry…"

I could barely breathe, let alone forgive him for saving my life.

He trailed off when my shattered legs got caught around the passenger seat, refusing to move. But he didn't hesitate, seizing me by my belt, asking the skinny man to take my ankles. His clammy, knobby fingers wrapped around my bare skin. "Pull, Lucas!" the big man shouted.

"I'm pullin', old man!" the other man replied.

With their combined efforts, I slid out of the car easily, but not without another blast of pain wracking my shattered bones and searing my torn muscles to ash from my head to my feet. Another ungodly, guttural howl ripped out of me, my eyes swimming with shadows, my head flooding with delirium. With quick instincts, the men caught me before I could hit the water, swinging me between them by my shoulders and ankles.

The pain had become so body-breaking that I heaved up a mouthful of something from my seething stomach. It ran, hot and sticky, down my chin. Whatever-it-was alarmed the men, and after a moment's deliberation, they began to swiftly wade their way through the water towards a glowing cluster of lights on a nearby hill.

"We've got you, son," the man reassured to me, his voice growing faint as the torrential night plunged into the rapidly-encroaching darkness. "We've got you…"

The last thing I remembered was a ghostly bout of whispering, gently lulling me unconscious.

* * *

And so ends chapter 2. I am very excited to take you on this ride, and I hope you are as excited as me. How did you find the creepy jumpscare in the rain? I know it's nearly impossible to write a jumpscare, so I gave it my best shot. :)  
Anyway, should you have any thoughts or pointers for me, please let me know in a review or a message. I will be happy to clarify or take your advice.  
Thank you for reading, as always. Hopefully I can crank out another chapter as quickly as this one.  
Cheers, and see you soon!


	3. Southern Hospitality

Hello, ladies and gents!

Blimey, I'm sorry for the delay on the update. Things have been a little wild here at my job, so I haven't had too much time to write. I decided to make this chapter a little longer, to make up for things. Lucky you! Hopefully you enjoyed the last chapter. The car crash scene was interesting to write. We'll see the aftermath of that crash in this chapter...

Well, I won't keep you long, reading this note. I hope you enjoy. Cheers!

* * *

It was the tinny grinding of a clock that tolled me awake.

Almost as if someone flipped a switch, my body gave a collective, miserable groan as lucidity flowed back into my skull, the thick haze of unconsciousness that had smothered my brain dissolving.

I didn't have any way to prepare myself for the shockwave of pain that struck me not a moment later. It lingered like nightmare - a sharp, involuntary gasp throttled my uneasy breathing as my body tensed into stone, even my fingers and toes curling in response.

My senses were bulldozed by an avalanche of pain. I could suddenly feel every inch of me all at once: my joints and muscles seemed to melt into molten puddles beneath my skin; I could have sworn someone had shoved knives through the bones of my legs; my head began to pound feverishly, as though someone were drilling a jackhammer into my forehead; maybe I was still trying to wake up, but my spine seemed to leak liquid bone into the soft, wide surface I found myself lying on.

It took almost every ounce of strength I had to so much as peel my eyelids open - they were stuck at first, almost glued together - but I somehow managed. God, even my _eyeballs_ were sore. After my double vision cleared, my heart began to pound as I took in every detail of the room I found myself in.

It wasn't the room that scared me. The room was actually… normal. No, it was the disquieting knowledge that I had no idea _where_ I was that made my blood curdle.

I definitely wasn't in the car, anymore. An antique ceiling fan churned reverently above me, its tulip-cup glass fixtures dark. Beneath the fan sat a wide wooden hutch, filled with books and DVDs and furnished with an old-fashioned television set, also dark. The three walls I could see were washed with a faded blue paint, with cobwebs and cracks clinging to the pale crown moulding in the corners.

My eyes continued to wander around the room. I didn't dare move my head - even though it was cradled in a heavenly pillow - for fear my brittle, stiff neck might spontaneously snap. To my right, I found warm golden sunlight filtering through a tall window, giving the room a midday lustre and igniting the dust motes dancing through the air. The light stretched across the room, bathing the leather cushions of a love seat to my left and the face of a large grandfather clock behind it.

So that was where the clock was. From what I could make out from its hands, it was around half past five. My sore jaw clenched as I swallowed a rock that had formed in my throat.

Just where the hell was I? And how long had I been out?

I didn't have to wait long to get my answer. Delirious from my rising panic, I watched the clock's brass pendulum swing back and forth, almost hypnotised by it, before my attention was ripped from the clock and to my stomach when it gave a starved whine that clawed ravenously through me.

My hand automatically flew to my abdomen, the movement sparking a searing arc of pain up my arm and into the shredded muscle of my shoulder. I cried out - probably a bit louder than I meant to - biting down on another scream of horror once I realised what I had done.

Like a hammer through a mirror, my voice rent the still silence of the room - not a moment later, I heard footsteps pattering urgently towards me, echoing along what sounded like a wooden floor. A hot wave of panic prickled my hairline; I tangled my aching fingers in the bedsheet draped over my body, breaking out in a sweat.

 _Holy shit, I'm not alone,_ I flustered. _What do I do?!_

There wasn't anything I _could_ do. Unable to move due to my pain-induced paralysis, I simply laid there, anxiously waiting for whoever belonged to the footsteps to appear. There was no way I could fake that I was asleep; I knew they'd heard me.

My eyes widened at the sight of them, but they weren't what my petrified paranoia was expecting.

A small, middle-aged woman hurried into the room, wearing an expression of severe worry that enhanced the soft wrinkles in her pallid skin. Her thin, chocolatey hair was pulled back into a low bun, resting atop the collar of her airy summer dress that billowed behind her as she walked.

Her eyebrows rose with concern when she met my gaze. "Oh my word," she gasped, quickening her pace, making her way around the love seat and towards me. I only then noticed, as she approached, that I was lying down on a pull-out sofa bed in the middle of the living room.

She shuffled between the love seat and my bedside, murmuring, "Thank goodness you're awake. I was so worried - I thought you'd never come to." Her voice was sweet and tender, like biting into a juicy southern peach. The woman seated herself on the bed and laid her hand on my pillow. "How you feelin', darlin'?"

Breathing shakily through my nose, I stared her straight in her gentle, denim-blue eyes, trying to make sure I wasn't dreaming.

"Where am I?" I croaked. I barely recognised my own voice - it was coarse and trickled out of my ragged throat almost inaudibly.

She offered me a faint smile that eased my tensions for a small moment. "Why, you're on the Baker plantation, hon. Our home. It's a beautiful place; been in my husband's family for generations. Ain't a thing like Texas ranches, but I think you'll like it here." Her voice then took on a slightly gloomy undertone as she added, "Judging from that nasty accident you had… I reckon you'll be staying with us for quite some time."

"What? W-what do you mean?!" I wheezed, my eyes flying down to the bulky forms of my legs beneath the sheets. I knew I had survived a nightmarish wreck, but just how bad had it been on me?

If the bone-breaking pain was enough to go off of, then I wasn't looking forward to the news.

The woman gave a dismal sigh. "I tell you, it was just plain awful when Jack and Lucas brought you in a few nights ago. Our daughter woke us up in the middle of the night saying there'd been a mudslide on the main road; they found your car half-underwater in the bayou and pulled you out. I've… never seen so much blood outside the slaughterhouse…"

My stomach turned nauseously as she spoke, memories of the crash splicing through my mind. She continued, "We weren't sure you'd make it through till mornin', but we were wrong. You're quite the trooper, young man. Thankfully, my daughter Mia's good with medicine, so she was able to take a look at you and patch you up. Ain't that swell?"

I barely had the time to process her words before the woman, possibly not wanting to linger on the subject, laid her soft fingers on top of my hand, gently lifting it so I could see. The thick carpet of bandages taped to my skin was alarming enough, but it was the black watch on my wrist that jammed my racing thoughts. I didn't own a watch; I've destroyed every watch I've ever owned.

It looked expensive. It had a large, square, digital face, and it looked to be displaying my heart rate through an uneven, glaring red line.

The woman explained, "Mia gave you this to monitor your health for a while. Can't for the life of me remember what it's called, but she said it would help." She smiled warmly. "And that's all we wanna do: help a poor gentleman find his way. We wouldn't be good folk if we didn't."

I swallowed, looking from the woman's kindly face to the red, flashing watch, a storm of awe brewing in my gut. I wasn't sure what to say. This woman and her family had saved my life and taken me under their roof, and I was a complete stranger. I counted myself lucky to have fallen into their laps. Who knows how my life would have ended up if I hadn't?

I wasn't sure how I'd ever repay them, so I started with my gratitude. Turning my gaze to the woman, I said, "Thank you. So much… er…?"

Her face softened. "Marguerite. Marguerite Baker. And what was your name, sweetheart?"

"Joseph Bell," I replied, offering up a smile of my own. It hurt to pull on my face like that, but it was the very least I could do.

Marguerite nodded softly. "Well, you are very welcome, Joseph. It's a pleasure. Now, you've been lying on that bed for a good two days. I imagine you're mighty hungry. How about I pop into the kitchen and bring y'all something to eat, hm? Sound good?"

My stomach twitched and burned at her mentioning of food. "Yes, please," I breathed.

"Well all right, then. You sit tight. I'll be right back." With that, Marguerite gave my hand a gentle pat and retreated out of the room. After she left, she hollered, "If you need anything in the meantime, just call!"

"Thank you, Marguerite," I responded, raising my gritty voice.

Easing out a sigh, I stared into the ceiling fan again. I'd like to say that the discomfort I had felt upon waking up vanished altogether after meeting Marguerite. And it did, for the most part.

But there was something nagging at me. Something I couldn't put a name on.

I reassured myself, over and over, that everything was fine. If it hadn't been for the Bakers, I'd be dead. We're talking obituary, funeral, cemetery - dead. But I wasn't, because of the Bakers. They had pulled me out of my wrecked car. They had welcomed me into their home and cared for me. _Cleaned up my blood._ I shouldn't have any reason to feel uncomfortable around them.

I stowed my lingering resignations, my body relaxing as I listened to Marguerite's footsteps shuffling around beneath the clinking of silverware. A nostalgic smile took over my face, while lying there. I kinda felt like I was a kid again, sick at home from school.

As I watched the ceiling fan spin, another set of footsteps thudded along the ceiling, startling me, causing the fan to shudder slightly. The footsteps then multiplied, racing across the floor above me till I heard them pounding down what sounded like a flight of stairs.

The new pair of footsteps thundered to where I figured Marguerite was, where they stopped.

"Mama, is he awake?" a girl's voice wondered. She sounded innocent and eager - her voice didn't appear to have the charming accent that Marguerite's had had. "Please tell me he's awake."

"Why, he is, sweetie. Now, I know you're excited that we have a guest, but try not to crowd the poor man. He's still in rough shape," Marguerite replied. "Here, why don't you take this to him. He hasn't eaten in days. Mia, honey, go with her, see how he's doin'."

"Of course, mama," another woman replied. Her voice was soft and light, lacking the accent as well.

The first girl must have been _extremely_ excited to see me - she and the other woman, Mia, I think, came briskly into the room not a second later. Now with more curiosity than trepidation, I turned my eyes to catch a glimpse of them.

The two young women were an interesting pair to behold. They each had pale, almost sickly-looking skin, just like Marguerite, who followed in behind them, but other than that… they didn't resemble their mother at all.

They... couldn't have been her daughters, could they?

I found myself studying them with a mixture of intrigue and confusion as they crept further into the room, each of their faces lighting up at the sight of me. I felt obligated to return the smile, offering as much of a curl of my lip as I could, since my face was still sore.

The girl in the front smiled back and shyly hid her face behind her thick, shiny curtain of inky black hair. For a moment, my brain itched - I could have sworn I had seen her before, but I couldn't think of where. It refused to come to me, no matter how much I strained my mind.

She was taller than the other girl and Marguerite, her face young and lovely, her body thin, her gait graceful. She looked to be about 18 or 19. Her eyes were an icy blue and seemed to dive deep inside you whenever they brushed over you. She wore a loose, grey cotton dress that hung off of her bony shoulders, and she held in front of her a silver tray topped with a few bone china saucers and a drinking glass.

The second woman was small, petite, and, undoubtedly, the most gorgeous thing in the room. My jaw couldn't help but drop a little when I saw her dressed in a pink, lacey spaghetti-strapped top and torn denim shorts. She appeared to be around my age. She had long hair too, but hers was wavy, and a unique, faded brown. Her eyes were a rich hazel, kind and inviting. She returned my weak smile with a breathtaking smile of her own that had my aching knees shaking.

If they really were her daughters, then damn - the Bakers had good-looking girls.

Marguerite snapped me out of my gaping by officially introducing them. "Joseph, these are two of my daughters. Eveline," she gestured to the girl with the tray, who uncovered her face and smiled wider. "And Mia," she then laid a hand on the petite woman's bare shoulder.

"It's nice to finally meet you," Eveline murmured. "We thought you were dead."

Wow. Hell of a way to start a conversation. Her comment made me blink, but I shrugged it off. "Well… I'm not, thanks to you guys," I replied. "I really have no idea how I'm gonna repay you."

"Oh, hush, there's no need to repay us at all," Marguerite scolded. "It's the least we could do, considering that awful accident you were in. What kind of people would we be if we didn't lend a hand?"

"Yeah… what kind of people…" I trailed off.

Mia interrupted my thoughts as she brightly said, "We're _so_ happy you're with us, Joseph. You're going to really, really like it here."

My eyes trailed around the pleasant sitting room and back to the three women at the foot of my bed. I smiled. "Yeah. I think I will, actually."

Eveline grinned, a childlike excitement illuminating her young, sallow face. "Oh, I'll make sure you do," she cooed. "Don't worry."

Another swell of my anxiety hit me again at the unsavoury, saccharine-sweet tone of her voice in which she said that. Something about her didn't feel right. It felt… familiar, as well. But what was I thinking? She was a Baker. And they were helping me. Why should I worry? Again, I dismissed the thought.

Marguerite broke the brief second of silence that followed Eveline's comment, chiming in, "All right, girls, you keep him company. I'm goin' to round up Zoe and the boys. They'll be wantin' to meet you, Joseph." She turned and began to leave, calling over her shoulder, "Make sure the boy eats!"

"Yes, mama!" Eveline and Mia replied in unison.

Eveline charged eagerly forward to my bedside, placing herself on the edge of the bed and setting the tray down as Mia came around the other side.

It had been lovingly arranged like a table. The tray, alongside the pair of saucers and drinking glass, was set with an elegant pair of silver spoons, a paper napkin, and a small jar of sugar. The embellished drinking glass beside the sugar was filled with a thin brown liquid, ice cubes floating in it, and topped with a lemon wedge. A miniature vase with a sprig of aromatic lavender tied the ensemble together.

Eveline began explaining the contents of the saucers to me, almost as if I were a child. "Mia said you'd need to eat softer foods because of your injuries," she began, her captivating, frigid blue eyes capturing my full attention. I couldn't seem to pull away. "So we got you some homemade peach-applesauce and the crawdad chowder we had for dinner last night with some sweet tea to finish it all off. I helped make the chowder, so it should be extra good," she giggled with pride.

I blinked, both starved and amazed, at the care that had gone into the tray. Marguerite had thought of everything. Not even my own mother put as much thought into little things like the lavender vase and the matching chinaware. I hoped I'd never have to admit that to her.

"Wow," I gasped. "This looks amazing." The peach-applesauce was thick and the colour of a sunset, giving off a tantalisingly sweet aroma; chunks of red-speckled crawdad meat, green onions, and spices floated alluringly in the creamy, steaming chowder, making my mouth overflow with hunger.

I swallowed my famished salivating. "Thank you very much. I can't wait to try this."

Eveline picked up the spoon in her white hand, wondering, "Do you need any help eating, Joseph? I don't mind. Really. I love helping."

It was sweet of her to offer, and I knew that I was hurt, but I didn't want resort to making the family spoon-feed me. That was asking too much, in my opinion. I shook my head. "No. Well… maybe to sit up a little…"

As Eveline readied herself to help me up, Mia came forward quickly, cautioning, "Be careful with him, Evie. He's really hurt. Let's do it together, okay?"

"Okay."

Mia peeled the sheet off of me, exposing my shirt. I did a double take. In the time that I'd been out, they'd changed me out of my tuxedo and into a gray, button-up, collared shirt with the sleeves cut off, showing off my bandage-wrapped arms. I didn't dare look at them longer than I had to. The sight made my stomach squirm.

"When did I change into this thing?" I mused as Mia and Eveline placed their hands by my armpits, ready to pull me up.

"When daddy and Lucas brought you in. Your other clothes were all muddy and bloody. Mama's washing them for you," Eveline explained.

With a quick heave, the two women hauled me more upright against the pillow, the action not without a shriek of protest from my pummelled shoulder. It seemed like the simple shift in position sent a domino effect through the rest of my body, an electric streak of pain shooting into my spine, my hips, and through both of my legs. I gave an agonised series of grunts, gritting my teeth until the pain began to settle.

Now safely propped up, Mia looked me dead in the eyes. "Are you all right? Nothing broke or anything?"

"No," I sighed. "No, I'm good. Thanks a lot."

"Don't mention it," she replied with a relieved smile. She quickly checked the codex on my wrist. "Your vitals look good for now. Here, you should eat. You look hungry."

Eveline immediately slid the tray closer to me, handing me the spoon. "Here."

"Thank you," I began, grabbing it from her with my only decent hand. Thank God I'm a lefty.

For several moments, our hands met. Her fingers were absolutely freezing - it honestly took me by surprise. Our gazes locked for a moment longer before a wide smile spread across her pale lips.

"I'm really happy you're here, Joseph," she said, her voice low. "Things are going to be so much better with you around. I just know it."

My blood slowed slightly in my veins. The way she looked at me… I'd seen it before. Only on a few other girls, but I'd seen it before. I wasn't sure how I felt about it. She was so young compared to me. I didn't think I was ready to even _consider_ something like that so soon. Not after what I did.

I merely replied with a small smile. "Thanks, Eveline. I'm… glad you guys found me."

"Trust me," she said. "We're glad, too."

If only I had known what she meant.

I didn't hesitate to dig into the food, although with my aching muscles, it was a slow process. But I savoured every last second. Each spoonful of the peach-applesauce was nothing less than sweet, tangy ecstasy, and the meaty bits of crawdad combined with the flavourful chowder and green onions tickled me inside and out. I scraped both saucers dry in a matter of minutes before guzzling the chill, lemony tea in the glass. It soothed my parched throat on a heavenly level.

I had no idea food could taste that fantastically surreal. We definitely didn't eat like this in Texas. Damn, I'd been missing out.

Mia and Eveline watched me eat in total silence. There was a kind of sparkling fascination in Eveline's eyes that I had never seen in anyone outside of a child watching a magic trick. When I had swallowed my last mouthful of the tea, she wondered, "Did you like it?"

I nodded blissfully. "Oh yeah. That was delicious. I need to thank Marguerite again."

"Good," Eveline smiled. "If you're gonna be here awhile, then you're gonna have to like mama's cooking."

Suddenly the tea on my tongue soured. I swallowed hard, my euphoria dissipating as I turned to Mia. "That's what Marguerite said... And just… how long do you think that's gonna be, exactly? How bad is it?"

She didn't say a word, but her expression spoke volumes. The food in my stomach felt suddenly heavier. Reaching for the bed sheet, she tossed it off of me, revealing the rest of my body.

My body iced over in shock.

"It's… not good news," Mia muttered.

My response was weak and delayed as I fully took in the severity of my condition. "Holy shit," I wheezed.

In the time that I was unconscious, I'd been stripped down to my boxers and the old button-up shirt. Like I had seen before, a layer of bandages hid the skin on my arms from view. But my arms were the least of my problems - both of my legs from mid-thigh down were spread out on the bedding beneath me, the sheets horrifically blood-streaked. My legs laid stiff and unmoving, bound up tightly with a thick weave of equally blood-spotted gauze. They had been splinted with thin two-by-fours tied together with duct tape, and the gauze looked… jagged. My feet were bundled up similarly.

My breath began to stagger as my terror gushed back into me. In spite of the pain, I reached for the shirt's buttons, ripping them off as I tore it down its seam, exposing my chest. Another series of heavy gauze wrapped around my torso, with even more restricting the movement around my back and my stiff right shoulder.

"Oh, God," I panted, going limp, my head hitting the back cushion of the couch. "Holy… shit…"

Mia's hand appeared on my gauzed shoulder. "Joseph, hey, calm down. You're gonna be all right, trust me. I know it looks bad, but you'll be fine. I know you will."

My eyes bugged as I turned on her, my voice rising with every syllable I howled. "Like hell I will be! _What the fuck happened to my legs, Mia?!"_

Her gloomy expression said it all. "They're broken. In several places. We tried our best to realign them, but we can still fix them, don't worry."

Jaw dropping once again, I panicked, madly gesturing to my crooked bones, _"Fix them?!_ Fucking _fix them?!_ We can't _fix_ _this!_ Just what the _fuck_ am I doing _here?!_ I should be in a hospital! Holy shit! My legs… Holy shit…!"

"You don't understand, Joseph…" she began, but I wasn't listening, anymore.

Mia continued to try and talk me out of my hysteria, but I was inconsolable. Both the living room and her voice seemed to fade from my view as I stared, emptily, into nothing, my lungs quivering, my heart pounding out of control, my life spiralling to ruin in my mind.

What was I going to do? I'd be crippled for the rest of my life if I didn't get professional medical help, soon. Forget repairing the car and getting back onto the road.

I couldn't wrap my head around their reasoning for keeping me on their couch. Why hadn't they taken me to the hospital? My injuries were severe enough! What had possessed them to keep me here, when they clearly didn't have the resources to fix my shattered legs?

It was wrong. It was all wrong. But whether I liked it or not, I had to get help from the Bakers. I was in no position to help myself, at the moment.

As I slowly came back down to Earth, Mia's voice filled my ears, "...road is out of our control, and I'm sorry, but - "

"No," I groaned, shaking my head, cutting her off. "No, no, no, we can't. I _have_ to get professional help - I _have_ to go to a hospital. Please," I plead, facing her, my head heavy. "You have to take me, I beg you. I really, really appreciate everything you and your family have done for me, so far, but please, I can't stay here like this. I _have_ to get to the hospital."

Before Mia could reply, someone else did for her.

"I'm afraid that's not gon'to work out, son," they said.

* * *

I must say I rather enjoyed writing Marguerite's character and dialogue. She was such a sweet woman before everything happened. But Eveline is a little unsettling, and Mia doesn't seem too put together, either... The mystery continues!

I hope you enjoyed it. Leave me a comment, if you did!

I'll try to get the next chapter out quicker. Cheers!


	4. Family Matters

Hello, internet!

Welcome back to _Honeybell._ I hope you have enjoyed reading Joseph Bell's tale, so far. I promise you, it's only going to get more and more mad with each chapter.

I won't bore you with this little note, so please, read on, mate. Cheers!

* * *

The room fell silent - even the frantic roaring in my ears abruptly died - following the words of the deep, tender voice as it spoke from somewhere behind me.

It sent a familiar itch into my neck. With a silent start, I realised that I recognised it. Flashes of lying, broken and bleeding, in the back of my dark car played through my mind like a strobe light.

That had to be him - the big man who'd rescued me.

Now that I had been sat upright, I was able to crane my head around to catch a glimpse of the man who had interrupted my meltdown. Even as my neck sparked with pain, I continued turning to feed my intense curiosity. That Louisiana drawl was unmistakable. I had to know who he was.

I watched through strained eyes as three people trailed into the sitting room from a spacious, adjacent dining room. Behind them sat a large, circular table at the dining room's centre, with six chairs crammed around it, two of them mismatched from the rest of the set.

It was the only woman in the trio who caught my attention first. I immediately knew she was Marguerite's daughter - she and her mother shared similar facial features and thin, brown hair. This woman, however, unlike the other women in the house, wore her hair in a short, disheveled pixie cut. Just like Mia, she seemed to be my age, perhaps a little younger. She looked ill, thin, and sallow-skinned, and her eyes were sunken and fatigued, yet they shifted between me and the two men with her with terrified anticipation. She hugged herself, almost like a wounded animal, stepping in cautiously in a baby-blue tank top and acid-washed capris.

My gaze traveled to the man in front of her. He appeared older than the woman, yet still close to my age. He had an unsettling air about him that gave me goosebumps; his ashen, angular face seemed to be permanently set into a snarky, troublemaking facade. His hair was extremely thin, both on top of his head and on his jowels, and there was a madness in his eyes, just as tangible as the crooked smirk he flashed me when our gazes met.

I didn't know him at all, but I had a distinct impression that he wasn't someone I wanted to cross as he sauntered into the room in a rust-coloured t-shirt and baggy black jeans. I noted that the man's clothes and worn shoes were slathered with silty Louisiana mud.

While the two of them were interesting enough, it was the older man leading them that captured my interest the most.

Him and the grinning man behind him definitely shared genes; they both had the same long nose, were balding, pale, and had identical eye structure. The bigger man was taller, though, with broad shoulders and a fading muscular build from his youth. He appeared middle-aged, just like Marguerite. I could only assume she was his wife.

The man had a stern, partly-wrinkled face and forehead beneath his bare crown and thick beard trimmed close to his powerful jawline. He looked to have recently been outside as well, his orange- and yellow-striped polo and khaki slacks smudged with mud.

The three of them entered the sitting room, the younger man and the woman quietly placing themselves in the corner. The big man stepped further inside in a pair of filthy hunting boots, his gaze focused directly on me. His heavy, tromping gait was familiar as he made his way through the shafts of light filtering through the window and to my bedside.

He gave me a faded smile that wrinkled the edges of his eyes. "So, er… it was Joseph, wasn't it?" he began thoughtfully, breaking the silence. "Did... my wife Marguerite tell me right?"

"Y-yes," I replied, feeling small. It wasn't him, specifically, who intimidated me, but he towered over me from where I sat in the bed. "I'm Joseph, sir."

He shook his head and waved his hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you, son, but, please, don't call me 'sir.' Makes me feel old," he chuckled. "Just call me Jack. I'm the man of the house."

"Will do," I agreed. I was so engrossed in finally meeting the man who had saved my life that I almost didn't notice Eveline shift uncomfortably next to me.

Carefully, Jack seated himself on the bed beside Mia, extending his broad hand towards me. In spite of my sore muscles, I took it. His hand was weathered and sturdy, but he intentionally held back from giving me a firm handshake in light of my injuries. As we shook hands, he held me in his aged, sky-blue eyes. They twinkled, tired, yet gentle, behind the circular wire glasses perched on his nose.

His smile warmed up. "Now, I hope I didn't scare you comin' in, son, but I couldn't help but overhear, what with all the shoutin' goin' on..."

"Yeah," I breathed, my shoulders sagging. I snuck a glance at Mia. She looked withered. A pang of regret bloomed in my gut. "A-and I'm sorry for yelling, but… I just…" I sighed. "I'm scared - I need to get to a hospital. My legs, they're… totally broken. I need to get help."

Jack listened with a deepset attentiveness in his brow as I added, "And please, don't get me wrong - I am deeply, deeply grateful for what you and your family have done for me. I mean, I remember you. From that night. You," I began, looking from him to the man in the corner, "and you pulled me out of my car." I then gestured to Mia, Eveline, and Marguerite. "And your wonderful wife and daughters have all taken such good care of me; I'm indebted to you. But I _need_ to see a doctor."

Jack blinked and he hung his head. He suddenly looked a lot older than before, the shadows beneath his eyes darkening. "I can understand that just fine. But it's just like I said, son: that won't quite work out. Even if we wanted to take you into town to get y'all help, we wouldn't be able to. Hell, if I could have helped it, we would've driven you to the emergency room the second we found you. And believe me, my boy and I tried, but that mudslide you were in? It completely blocked the only road off of our property."

Ice shot through my veins at this revelation. "What?" I choked.

Jack nodded grimly. "Lucas and I've spent the last few days trying to clear the road, but the mud and debris is just about two miles thick. I can't even tell you how many tree trunks and tires and things we've dug out of it already. Not to mention the flooding, the animals... We ain't even close. It may take some time, but hopefully the parish will bring out some 'dozers soon to dig us out. But in the meantime, I'm afraid we're all stuck here."

My heart sank into the floor with a horrified thud after listening to his report. The weighty gravity of my situation carved a hole in my chest as the regret festering in my stomach seeped into my veins and throughout the rest of my body.

My panic-fueled shouting at Mia playing back toxically in my mind. I cringed at how awfully l I had treated her, even as she had patiently tried to explain everything to me. But through my blind terror, I had never stopped to even _remotely_ consider the fact that the Bakers had _tried_ to get me to a hospital, only to be blocked off by the aftermath of the mudslide.

How could I have forgotten the sheer magnitude of it? It had chewed up my car and spat it out, battered and crushed, into the bayou. That thing had almost killed me, biting down on my bones and tearing me apart, leaving me for dead. How had I been stupid enough to think that the road would be in any better condition than I was?

"Oh my God," I wheezed, my eyes wide. "I had no idea. I'm..." I looked to Mia, mortified by my ignorance. "Mia… Mia, I'm so sorry for what I said… You didn't deserve that. I'm sorry I yelled at you. You were only trying to help me, and - "

She gave me a forgiving, sweet smile that took my words away. "Don't worry about it. I understand; I would have done the same thing."

"We all would," another voice chimed in.

Everyone turned their heads toward the short-haired woman at the back of the room, where she stood, arms folded, leaning against the doorframe. Her voice was low and dripped with those same southern undertones Marguerite and Jack both had.

Jack nodded. "Ain't that right, Zoe. My only regret is that we had told you sooner." He then looked to me, gesturing a thumb at the short-haired woman. "Oh, where are my manners? Have you met my daughter, Zoe, yet? She and Lucas, my boy, are on winter break from LSU."

A ghost of a smile ran across Zoe's lips as I glanced at her.

Lucas, beside her, gave a short, bored salute at the mention of his name. "Go Tigers," he droned, his voice a higher, more childish version of Jack's.

These two definitely weren't as sociable as Eveline and Mia, but it was nice to get to know the entire Baker family, since they had been so hospitable.

I shook off my shock at Jack's news, remembering my manners. "It's nice to meet you," I said.

Zoe didn't reply, burying her gaze into her shoes, instead.

On the other hand, Lucas grinned widely. It made my skin crawl. "Trust me, pard," he giggled. "We're _waaay_ more excited to meet _you."_ He then winked at me. "We just _love_ guests."

Before I had the time to shiver at Lucas's uncomforting words, Jack recaptured my attention by stating, "Despite his foolin', Lucas is right. We do love having folks over, and since we're gonna be together for a while, we hope you're as happy and comfortable as possible. We may not be professional doctors, but fate brought you to us, and we'll do whatever we can to help you get back on your feet. Both Mia and Zoe are good with medicine. They'll fix you up good, mark my words. Ain't that right, girls?"

Zoe silently nodded; Mia uttered, "Yes, daddy."

"Good," Jack said. "In the meantime, Marguerite and the girls will keep lookin' after you while Lucas and I continue workin' on the road. Hopefully we can get it clear enough to get you to the Dulvey General Hospital within a few weeks or so, depending on what the parish is up to, of course."

My heart skipped a beat, my mind going fuzzy for a moment - maybe it was the dread of waiting. I wasn't sure. But I had no other choice but to accept my circumstances. Granted, the timeline wasn't promising for my shattered legs, but I knew I would make it to the hospital eventually. It wasn't like I was rushing to go, anywhere, anyway.

Jack seemed like a reasonable man - he would keep his word. And I trusted Mia. I believed I'd grow to trust Zoe, as well. At least I knew the Bakers weren't keeping me here without professional treatment on purpose. Who was I to suspect them of that, anyway? They were good people.

"So there _is_ a hospital nearby?" I beamed.

"Yes, just over in Dulvey, about a mile out. But like I said, with all that mud in the way, it's all but impossible to get through," Jack resigned. "Don't you worry yourself none; I'll work Lucas hard. Maybe my scrawny little boy'll end up with some muscle. Who knows?"

Laughter bounced around the room, but Lucas wasn't laughing. His grin capsized into twisted scowl that he fired into the wall.

"Yeah, yeah, y'all laugh it up," he jeered, pivoting on his heel and slouching out of the room. "We'll see who's got muscles…"

"Oh, don't mind him," Marguerite teased. "He'll get over himself." She then addressed her husband. "Jack, hon, why don't you and Lucas get freshened up for supper? It's been a long day. I think I'm gonna start cookin' a bit early, tonight, now that Joseph's awake."

Jack got to his feet, his face lightening. "Hoo, boy, jambalaya, tonight?"

She nodded. "Your favourite - 'cause you've been workin' so hard."

"Mm- _mmm,_ I can taste it already!" Jack cheered. Before he left the room, he paused and turned to me, laying a gentle hand on my bandaged shoulder. "Son, I take care of my own. If you ever need anything, don't you _ever_ hesitate to ask." He smiled at me like a reassuring father would. "You're practically part of the family, after all."

"That's right," Marguerite added. Both Mia and Eveline gave firm nods.

I was floored by their kindness. Hospitality like this should have been illegal. "Thank you. You're… You're a wonderful family. Thank you. I-I don't know what to say."

Another hand appeared on my other shoulder, their freezing touch burning my skin. I rapidly turned to face Eveline, where I nearly jumped back into the couch. She was suddenly seated _incredibly_ close to me, her eyes boring into me, her smile hypnotising.

"Say that you'll stay," she urged.

A twitch darted through my neck as a nervous chuckle escaped my throat. "Well, I kind of have no choice, now, do I?"

She didn't move an inch for a solid second. But the strangest thing happened when she did: she laughed to herself, and, bizarrely, Jack, Marguerite, and Mia all laughed together. Almost as it Eveline queued them. I didn't know what to make of it. Maybe it was just my tired imagination?

Eveline's little, rounded nose wrinkled when she smiled. "You're so funny," she giggled.

"Ain't he the bee's knees, dear?" Marguerite said sweetly, interrupting Eveline's piercing gaze. "The boy reminds me of Jack when he was young…" She then came forward, reaching down and picking up the cleared silver tray on the bed. "How was the food, Joseph?" she asked.

"It was excellent, thank you. You're an incredible cook," I replied with a grateful smile.

Marguerite seemed to blush. "You sweet little thing. Thank you kindly." She then straightened, carrying the tray in her arms. "All right, everyone," she announced. "I think Joseph's had enough attention for one day. The man needs time to himself, now." She looked to Mia, Eveline, and Zoe. "Come along, girls, I could use some help in the kitchen."

Jack took that as his invitation to leave. As he strolled out of the sitting room, Mia got to her feet as well, waving me goodbye, following after her father.

But Eveline hesitated. She remained next to me, watching her mother begin to make her way out until she paused in the doorway. "Did you need anything before we go, sweetheart?" Marguerite asked me.

Now that she mentioned it, my body began to remember that it wasn't in good shape. I rubbed my sore shoulder, my face twisting. "Yeah… May I have a painkiller, please? Like Tylenol, or something? I'm… in a bit of pain…"

"Why, of course," Marguerite replied. "Evie, honey, you know where we keep it. Would you be a dear and get him some?"

Eveline shot up like a bottle rocket, her eyes aglow. "Yes, mama!" She then sprang out of the room and crossed through the dining room, where she began to sprint up the stairs faster than I could blink.

"She'll be back with that, soon," Marguerite told me. "If you need anything else, we're just in the other room - kitchen's right here."

"Thank you," I replied, settling myself into the fluffy pillows against my back.

As she headed into the kitchen, I thought I heard her mutter to herself, "Such a polite boy…"

Another smile found its way onto my lips. The Bakers were quite a group. I liked Marguerite. She was such a delightful southern lady. Jack was a good man, too. And Mia was wonderful - doubly so for forgiving me for flying off my handle. Eveline was… clingy, to say the least. But she was the youngest of the family, so that was to be expected. Lucas made me uneasy, but he didn't seem too interested in meeting me, so maybe I wouldn't see much of him. As for Zoe, well, I wasn't sure what to think of her. She was the quietest of the group, undoubtedly. And the most shy, I'd wager.

Fortunately, I was able to get to know her a little more. The moment Marguerite and Eveline disappeared, she gathered up her courage and proceeded to speak with me.

I watched her approach the bed, hunched over and on her tiptoes, almost as if she were trying to sneak up on me. Her eyes darted left and right, searching with dreaded anticipation for something.

I stared at her. What the hell was she doing?

"Er… hi, Zoe - " I awkwardly began, only for her to cut me off with a fierce shush of her lips.

"Hush, now! I don't have much time to talk with you," she whispered, her clothes reeking of cigarettes. Crouching on the floor by my bedside, she hid herself behind the couch, away from the view of the other room. "I don't know what they've already told you, but don't you dare believe any of it, you hear me?"

"What are you talking about - ?!" I tried to say, but she silenced me again.

"I said shut it, Joseph!" A look of fervent determination hardened her soft features. "Listen, the road is blocked, I'll give them that, and it'll take time to fix your legs, but you need to get out of this house, boy. You ain't safe, here. You _have_ to leave."

I was about to remind her that I couldn't walk, but she cut me off once more. "If you don't remember anything else I'm gonna say, then you remember this, and you remember it _good:_ this house, your injuries, my family - somethin' ain't right! It ain't been right 'round here for months, now. My parents have changed, I've changed, even my psycho brother has changed!"

"What do you mean, _changed?"_ I managed to ask.

Zoe frustratedly shook her head. "I can't tell you everythin' - not just yet - she'd lick me if I did. But I'm gonna work on somethin' with the herbs in the greenhouse to help get you outta here faster. You have to keep your head clear, in the meantime, boy. Have you ever smoked, before?"

My head was already swimming with her fire hose of bizarre information. I had no clue what message she was trying to get through to me. "Wait, what?! Smoked? No! Well, once at that frat party in college, yeah, but - "

She began fumbling with her pockets. "I still ain't sure, but I think these saved my ass, these last few months. She doesn't like the nicotine, I think. Here, take some. You're gonna need 'em."

Zoe then shoved a pack of cigarettes and an old lighter into my hand. I held them numbly, seriously confused.

"Light one up whenever you need some clarity," she instructed me. "You can't go fallin' for their tricks, no matter what they try to convince you. It's all a lie, Joseph, a _big lie,_ and they want you. _She_ wants you."

" _Who the hell are you talking about?!"_ I hissed, desperately wishing I could get up and leave. She was starting to disturb me with her paranoia. Nothing she said made any sense.

Our heads both snapped up towards the ceiling as it rattled with a quick set of footsteps. For some reason, Zoe panicked, meeting my gaze with a strained whisper, _"Evie! Eveline!_ Whatever I need to call her to get through your thick skull!"

My brows furrowed in denial. Sure, Eveline was a little clingy, and I could tell that she had a crush on me, but what exactly was Zoe implying? I was in such a stupor of disbelief for answers that I didn't even hear those same steps ringing down the stairs and toward us.

"Who, your _sister?!"_ I gaped.

"She's not my - !" Zoe began, before she abruptly recoiled from seemingly nothing. Her hand flew to her stomach, her face contorting with pain.

To my shock, she leaned over and threw up onto the floor.

"Zoe?!" I gasped, my eyes widening. That had come out of nowhere. "Are you all right?!"

While watching her whimper on the floor, I suddenly became aware that she and I weren't alone, anymore. Eveline's tall figure strode silently into the room, like a shadow, a bottle of pills and a cup of water in her pale hand.

"Oh, dear, is my sister not feeling well?" she wondered, stepping up to Zoe. She set the pills and the water down on the couch's armrest, sliding her free hand into Zoe's wild hair. Her touch froze the woman solid.

Eveline cooed, "You should go lie down, sister. You don't look so good."

A shiver rattled my spine, but I couldn't name why. Without a word, Zoe shook herself out of Eveline's fingers and ducked out of the room, her head bowed. She didn't even look at either of us, or Marguerite and Mia in the kitchen as she shuffled away. I heard a distant door slam, somewhere.

For several moments, Eveline stood, statue-like, staring after Zoe. "Poor thing, my sister," she sighed, capturing my gaze. "Her health isn't the greatest."

"Yeah…" I breathed. "No kidding. She was saying some pretty crazy things, just now…"

Eveline's statuesque posture melted as she gracefully twisted about in a swirl of silky black hair, seating herself on the bed beside me. She opened the pill bottle and shook a few tablets into her palm, holding them and the cup out for me to take.

"Really? What kinds of things?" she wondered.

My mind blank, I downed the pills with a quick swill of the lukewarm water.

"I have no idea," I shrugged.

* * *

Bloody Nora, Eveline is a creepy joy to write. I just hope I was able to capture that well enough. :)

I've had to consult many hours of Resident Evil 7 and some of my American southern friends to nail the Bakers' accents. You have to love that sweet Louisiana drawl! I find it fun to write, anyway.

So, we've met Zoe, Lucas, and Jack - the whole family's here! Zoe's warning is cryptic... We'll see what happens as Joseph enjoys his stay with the Bakers.

Thank you for reading! Chapter five (blimey, five already?) should be out soon.

Cheers!


	5. Haunted

Hello! Bloody hell, has it been a while...

I want to offer a sincere apology for my absence from this story. Things have been a bit wild up here, and I haven't had the chance to even _think_ about writing. I'll offer a brief explanation: my job went a bit pear-shaped around the end of August. I got laid off, my employer went belly-up. I spent the next few weeks desperately searching for a new place of employment, but that didn't turn out so well. Eventually, though, I found a place that wanted me, and I've been enjoying my last few weeks working with them. So, with things settling down a bit, I finally had the time to write. Huzzah!

I am back at Uni, so I will endeavour to do my best to continue uploads. All in all, if you are still interested in _Honeybell,_ here is the next chapter! I hope you enjoy. I made it quite a bit longer than the previous chapters, just to hopefully make up for things.

Please let me know what you think. Cheers! Pardon any errors I made, and thank you for your patience.

* * *

I continued to stew over my strange first impression of Zoe long after the fact - perhaps longer than I should have. I just didn't know what to make of the woman's warnings, and they brewed, frustratingly enigmatic, inside of me. Her words drifted like ghosts through my mind throughout the rest of the evening, nagging me to decipher their meaning, but as much as I wracked my brain, I couldn't figure out what she was trying to tell me.

Every time I ran through our rather one-sided conversation, her words became more and more bizarre and confusing, to the point that she seemed almost… unstable. But Zoe had been so earnest, cautionary. She sounded like she truly believed it all. Whatever she meant, though, it flew straight over my head.

None of it made any sense. Something about lies, and the whole situation being wrong… That I shouldn't listen to her family, that they had changed… And Eveline, wanting me.

 _Eveline._ Zoe had whimpered her name with an almost tactile fear. The more I thought about it, the more I began to wonder if maybe Eveline had a point in her description of her sister: Zoe _wasn't_ in good health. And when I considered the whole encounter in that way, things started to make more sense than they had, before. Zoe was skittish and extremely unhealthy-looking - she had literally thrown up while talking to me - and she obviously wasn't thinking straight.

I mean, had she actually _seen_ what her family had done for me? There was Jack, and Lucas - slogging through the mud and swamp water in the middle of the night to pull me out of my totalled car. Then Marguerite, Eveline, and Mia - no doubt after Jack and Lucas had dragged me, shattered and nearly comatose, into their living room, had mopped up my blood, bandaged me up, welcomed me and fed me.

What more could I have asked for?

They had all been so patient, loving, and understanding - barring Lucas, of course, but I chalked that up to his personality. No, it didn't matter what Zoe said - I felt incredibly safe, even among these strangers. But after the way I had been treated, the Bakers didn't feel like strangers to me. Not at all. Like Jack had said, I felt like part of the family, already, and I had only just gotten here.

As far as I could tell, there was nothing wrong with the Bakers. Why couldn't Zoe see that? If anything, there was something seriously wrong with _her._

Bewildered by her and her odd behaviour, I decided to put the whole incident out of my mind - she didn't seem terribly put-together, anyway. Next to Lucas, she would definitely be the only other member of the family that I'd make a conscious effort to avoid. Well, as much as I could, while stuck in this bed. My legs gave an uneasy itch.

With a lurch from my stomach, I forced that thought away as quickly as it sprung, taking a final swig of the tap water and setting the glass aside. A lump crawled down my throat and into my tepid gut as I studied the lighter and cigarettes Zoe had given me, uninterested in them and whatever 'purpose' she had for them.

What had she said, again? The cigarettes had saved her, or something? Total bullshit, but I didn't care anymore. She didn't make any sense.

Shrugging off her words, I tossed the cigarettes onto a side table wedged between the love seat and the couch. I kept the lighter, though, flicking it open and igniting it, over and over, to give me some form of entertainment other than my swimming thoughts. It became an almost robotic action, the little stuttering flame burning a spot into my retinas as I emptily watched it grow and die with each flick of my thumb.

It was a little after seven o'clock, by that time. As the sun retired for the day, the light streaming in from the window faded to a sleepy slate-blue that cooled the room, leaving me in the warm half-light pouring off from the kitchen behind me. Over the last half hour, or so, a spicy, thick, mouthwatering aroma developed, tantalisingly, in the air, teasing my appetite. The meal I had eaten earlier was delicious, no doubt about that, but I was looking forward to whatever simmered in the kitchen, my stomach snarling. I thought I remembered Marguerite mentioning something about jambalaya. I couldn't wait to try more of her succulent Southern cooking.

Other than the sounds of Mia, Eveline, and Marguerite chatting and bustling about the kitchen, the Baker house was peaceful - a sanctuary from the black bog outside. I could hear both my relaxed draws of breath and the reverent creaking of the walls with every gust of evening wind that brushed against the house. The constant ticking of the grandfather clock seemed to swing in sync with the beating of my heart as I sat in sweet, reflective silence, savouring a moment's quiet from the spiralling disaster my life had become.

Things were never this quiet in Houston. I lived in one of the slower parts of town, but traffic never slept, my neighbor's dog was yappy, and you definitely couldn't hear nature sighing out the window. Maybe, once my legs were healed, I'd consider transplanting myself out here. The Bakers had certainly made me feel welcome in Louisiana. I knew with a surety that I wasn't welcome in Houston, anymore. Not after what happened.

I was reminded, then, of how I had gotten here, by the bandages binding my arms. But again, I shoved away the memories threatening to rear themselves, my stomach twisting itself into knots at the notion of it.

The mental pain was there, and it haunted me, seeping like acid into my brain and my veins, burning its way through me. I didn't have the physical aches there to distract me from it - for better or for worse, the painkillers Eveline gave me had kicked in. All the same, my body had gone pleasantly numb where the mudslide had crippled me the most: my shoulder breathed a sigh of relief; my legs had long since fallen asleep; my neck and spine seemed to ooze a calming chill into my blood that had my eyelids drooping.

I'd have to thank Eveline for the painkillers whenever she came by. They were potent, and I was thoroughly grateful for that. I didn't want to think about how severe the pain would have been without them, due to my brutal souvenirs from the crash.

If only they could take my mind off the past. I'd die to find a way to forget about what I'd done.

Eveline, Marguerite, and Mia had been cooking for a while, by that point. It was beginning to get difficult to wait, as I waded through the mire of my mind, for whatever was making my stomach howl so desperately. Luckily for me, it wasn't long after that that Marguerite's voice announced my salvation.

"Soup's on, everybody! Come and get it!" she called.

Marguerite could carry her voice, that was for sure. It must have been a mom thing. Even in such a large house (I assumed it was large - it was a plantation, after all), her voice found its way to her family, and judging by the speed of the footsteps clambering above me, it seemed like they were just as hungry as I was. I heard the trademark heavy gait of Jack as he tromped across the floor upstairs, soon followed by Lucas's quick, sharp steps as they stampeded down the staircase and into the dining room.

Shadows flickered through the light leaking into the living room as Jack and Lucas arrived. It was Jack's jovial voice that boomed through the air, lauding, "My, that smells _damn fine,_ Marguerite! Can't wait to dig in - I'm starvin'!" he laughed. The gritty sound of chairs scraping across the floor sounded soon after, followed by the clattering of dinnerware and utensils. Somewhere in the mix, Eveline and Mia giggled.

"Now, hold your horses, cher," Marguerite began tenderly. "I'll serve up supper, but I think we ought to sit with our guest in the other room - make sure he's included, and all. There should be plenty of room - what do y'all say?"

"Well, that suits me just right," Jack agreed, scooting his chair out with another series of scratching. "What a fine idea! I'll pull up a few chairs."

"Thank you, hon. Lucas, go help your father," Marguerite stated, her sweet voice abruptly gaining a slight edge as she addressed her son.

Lucas gave an exasperated huff in response, but he nevertheless conceded to his mother's request. His tall, gangly silhouette slid into the living room a few moments later, one of the mismatched, folding steel chairs from the dining room table in his knobbly hands. The chair looked like it had been salvaged from a landfill - its back was warped, the paint scuffed and flaking off in places, revealing a black, filthy underside.

He strode in in clean clothes and with a pout on his lip, thunking the chair against the wall in a dramatic fashion before reaching up to the ceiling fan above me. He roughly yanked on the chain dangling from it, filling the room with a surge of piercing, bright light without bothering to warn me. I cringed back into my pillow, my face twisting as I blinked off the brilliant assault on my eyes.

"Aww, did I wake you?" he crooned with a sneer. A malicious pleasure glinted in his eye. "Sorry, pard - " he started, just as Jack, now clean and in new clothes as well, followed him into the room, heaving a solid, beautiful wooden chair, elegantly carved and shiny with lacquer, in his big arms.

Jack's gaze sharpened into his son's face; it could've sliced open his skin if he wanted it to. With a grit of his jaw, he slammed the chair's legs into the floor, the resulting thud about jumpstarting Lucas into the ceiling. My heart skipped a beat - the kitchen went silent for half a second.

Jack gave a quick, threatening snarl. _"Lucas."_ His eyes burned, hot, behind the lenses of his glasses, the creases forming in his forehead and between his thick eyebrows nothing short of humbling. My skin crawled in fear, though I knew I shouldn't have been afraid of him. "I will _not_ have you tormentin' our guest - you know what the man's been through."

Lucas cast him a slitted side glance, rolling his eyes and sulking like a child. "Aw, c'mon, daddy, it was just a fuckin' joke. I didn't mean anythin' - "

"You hush and clean up your language, boy!" Jack snapped, aiming a finger at Lucas's bony face. His wild eyes widened, as if daring to challenge his father, but by the way he remained planted in his spot, it didn't seem like he was about to contest Jack and his imposing stature. "You _will_ act like the adult you are and treat our guest will the respect he deserves," he barked. "Now git - bring in the rest of those chairs!"

Defeated, Lucas grumbled something I couldn't make out as he pivoted away from Jack and stomped around the bed, headed for the dining room. As he glided past the clock, he snuck a glare at me, his lip curling unpleasantly.

My stomach shot with ice at the ferocity of his expression. I suddenly had the distinct impression that Lucas hated my guts, and for petty reasons. Luckily for me, Jack had my back.

He glowered after Lucas in his retreat, pursing his lips and breathing a heavy sigh through his nostrils. When he turned to face me, his expression withered. "Sorry you had to see that, Joseph," he shrugged, taking the wooden chair up once more and placing it near the window. "My boy's always had a wild streak in him. Likes to tinker with things and with people - he ain't afraid of nothin'. I used to be the same when I was young, but, uh, the Marines beat that outta me. Lord knows they did..." He snorted. "I ain't the same man I was thirty years ago."

I blinked, finding my voice after my silence. "Oh, you served in the military?"

"Why, I reckon I did," he smiled. "Got the medals and uniform to prove it. The uniform don't fit, no more, but I did my time, served my country. I always hoped Lucas would enlist, but he was more, er, technologically-inclined. He's won all sorts of awards over the years, and he's hoping to start a degree in robotics and engineerin'. He's got the smarts for it, that's for sure."

To tell you the truth, I never would have pictured Lucas as the intellectual type - not after witnessing his series of tantrums and immature behaviour. He had that stereotypical unhinged, uneducated redneck vibe about him that put me off from that scholarly persona, but if Jack said he had the brains for robotics, I believed him. If nothing else, Lucas was a schemer. I'd give him that.

"That's amazing," I remarked, my eyebrows rising. "For the both of you. I... guess I should thank you for your service. I never had the guts to enlist," I admitted with a sheepish frown, my neck giving a sudden twinge. "I'm not the hero type, honestly."

"Well, the world's a different place, now, so there's nothing to be ashamed of," Jack said, stepping around the wooden chair and to the metal chair, which he proceeded to pry open. Its black, rusted hinges shrieked as he unfolded it and placed in the corner. "We've all got our callings on God's green Earth. I found mine - the military, Marguerite, the house, my children - I hope you find yours, someday."

My blood fell cold. I thought I had found my calling, before I ended up here. But it was too much. I panicked. I looked it in the face and ran, like the non-hero, cowardly son of a bitch I truly was, inside. And what did I have to show for my cowardice? A totalled car, two broken legs, and a loving family I didn't deserve to have watching over me, is what.

Ain't that a bitch?

I tried to swallow the rock in my throat, but it stuck. "Thank you, Jack," I muttered, casting my eyes into the bulges of my feet beneath the sheets. "I hope so, too…"

After a moment, Jack nodded in my peripheral vision, his voice gentle. "Why, that's all right. But we gotta get you outta that bed, first, don't we? Gotta get you strong and healthy, again; I think a nice helpin' of supper'll help. Excuse me, Joseph, I'm gonna round up s'more chairs."

"All right."

Laying back, I listened to his retreating footsteps, staring into the cracked plaster of the crown mouldings. I didn't bother turning my head to watch Lucas shuffle back into the room with another one of the chairs. He didn't appear to want to bother me, either - not after Jack put him in his place - merely stepping in and out in complete silence, his wicked eyes set into the floor.

My ears tuned in to the voices in the kitchen, again, as the footsteps and clattering resumed. Jack passed by in the meantime, another chair in tow.

Marguerite requested, "Mia, dear, I forgot - could you get Joseph a glass and something to drink?"

Before Mia could reply, Eveline piped up, "I've already got it, mama. Do we have more tea? He really liked it."

"There should be more in the fridge - that's a good girl, thank you, Mia - I'm sure he'll be happy with that. All right, everyone," she breathed, "Looks like we're all set. Wait, where's Zoe?"

"Haven't seen her since I jumped in the shower," Jack remarked.

After a moment, a final set of footsteps crept reverently into the dining room. "I'm right here," I heard Zoe say, her voice small. "Sorry, mama, I was in the greenhouse."

Marguerite sounded genuinely surprised to hear her news. "Doin' what, honey? Oh, well, either way, we're glad you're here. Would you help me serve up supper? We're gonna eat in the livin' room."

Zoe agreed mutely.

It came as no surprise that Marguerite, being the gracious Southern hostess that she was, served me first. Following another rattle of dinnerware and a brisk bout of footsteps, I came face-to-face with Eveline as she suddenly appeared above me. The wispy tips of her hair tickled my skin as she leaned over the couch.

"Hey, Joseph! Dinner's ready. Are you hungry?" she beamed, her smile as alight with joy as her icy blue eyes.

"Boy, am I," I sighed, my stomach turning in anticipation.

Her eyes sparkled. "Good! I hope you like jambalaya - mama makes it the best."

I was inclined to agree, even if I'd never tasted it, before.

Eveline then came around the couch, the silver tray from earlier in her hands. Carefully, she set it across my lap, allowing me to admire its contents as other members of the family trickled into the room, plates and drinking glasses in-hand.

Finally, I got a good look at what had been taunting me with its intoxicating aroma over the last hour. The heavy, sparky smell of black pepper, cayenne, and a tingling brine gushed into my nostrils and lungs with swoon-inducing satisfaction the moment I laid eyes on the lightly-steaming contents of my plate.

Marguerite must have made a _ton_ of jambalaya - the colossal heap of rustic-red sauce and spice-smothered rice nearly filled the entire plate resting on the tray. And it wasn't a tea saucer, either; the plate had to have been the size of a hubcap. Packed between the rice were countless, thick slices of caramelised Andouille sausage, whole, plump, curled shrimp, diced peppers in a kaleidoscope of colours, and misshapen bits of milky-white onions, all crying out to me and my ravenous stomach. I was so immersed in the jambalaya that I only just registered the tall glass of the lemony sweet tea, the polished forks, the napkin, and the chunk of flaking French bread all adorning the sides of the tray.

"Whoa," I gaped, unsure of where to dig into first, my head spinning. "This looks incredible. Is-is this _all_ for me?!"

"You better believe it is, Joseph," Marguerite intervened, a grin on her lips. She strode in with a piled-high plate in one hand, and a tall glass pitcher full of water in the other, offering me a playful wink. "And I made more than I know what to do with, so there's plenty to go around if you want any seconds." She stopped at the small coffee table and placed the pitcher on it, pausing only for a moment to gaze at the pack of cigarettes before returning her attention to me. "Eat up, darlin' - you need your strength."

"You don't have to tell me twice," I reassured her, thanking Eveline before she retreated back to the dining room. "I can't get enough of your cooking, Marguerite."

"Well, aren't you just as sweet as pie!" she blushed, crossing around the foot of the bed and seating herself in a chair next to Jack, who passed her a loving look. Zoe occupied another chair a little ways off of Marguerite's, while Lucas took up the decrepit metal chair in the corner near the window and the TV hutch.

With Marguerite at his side, Jack began, capturing my gaze, "Shoot, Joseph. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you'd never eaten food, before! Do they even feed y'all in Texas? Where're you from, anyway?"

"Been wonderin' that, myself," Zoe murmured, her pale skin glowing in the light.

I had to swallow the puddle of saliva pooling in my mouth before responding. Nobody had touched their food, yet - I assumed we were waiting for everyone to arrive. Mia and Eveline were still in the other room; I could hear them talking, but couldn't make out their words.

"Huh? Oh, I'm from Houston. Been there since I was a kid, but I was born in Colorado. I will say, the food back home isn't anywhere close to what you have down here. I've been missing out my entire life."

"Is that so? Ever tasted authentic jambalaya, before?" Marguerite wondered, giving her food a stir.

"Can't say that I have, no."

"Then you truly have not lived, son," Jack joked. "Marguerite's been spoilin' us rotten for years with her cookin'." His wife, smiling broadly, gave his knee a light pat, her pallid cheeks flushing. He turned to her with a warm fondness in his eye. "It's one of the many reasons I married this wonderful woman, right here."

His words were undoubtedly sweet, but I couldn't help a pang of anxiety as it stabbed through my hollow gut. My jaw ground, watching them gaze at each other, more memories of my fateful flight from Texas bursting into fruition in my mind.

Before I had time to linger on them, Mia and Eveline wandered into the room, their plates in-hand. After meeting my gaze, Eveline skipped ahead of Mia, crawling carefully on her knees across the bed and seating herself, cross-legged, by my side.

"Did I hear something about Houston?" Mia asked, her gait slowing.

I was wrenched out of my mind by her voice. Her tone was... off. Dreamy. Almost like she was lost. When I turned my head to glance at her, I found her brows to be low over her soft hazel eyes, which had gone foggy. She abruptly looked out-of-place, standing there, her petite body stiff.

"Er… yeah, that's where I'm from," I replied, growing worried for her. "Is everything okay?"

Her head snapped towards me, giving me a start. "You're from Houston?" she repeated, her voice taking on a panicked throttle. "I-I've been there… Texas." She began to fidget, as if trying to find a set of car keys, or a door to escape through, her wavy, faded brown hair whipping around. "I… I need to go back! Ethan, he - " She cut herself off as she locked eyes with Eveline, seated in stone-cold silence by my side. Without a warning, Mia's face scrunched up from some unseen pain.

Everyone in the room gave a collective jump when her plate shattered to the floor.

Everyone except Eveline.

"Oh, dear!" Marguerite cried, rising to her feet. She laid her plate onto the foot of the bed, rushing to Mia as she swayed slightly where she stood, pinching her eyes shut, her empty hands shaking. "Honey, are you all right? Here, let me help you clean that up."

The clouds in Mia's eyes dissolved when she reopened them, and she seemed to come back to herself. Almost as if someone had released their grip on her. She blinked back into reality, looking into the shards of her plate on the floorboards.

"Oh… I'm so sorry, mama, I'm not sure what came over me…" she stammered. "I'll grab the broom."

With that, the two of them hurried out of the living room, leaving the rest of us in awe. A moment later, Marguerite called from somewhere in the house, "Go ahead and eat, everyone! We'll be in in a minute."

As starving as I had been, before, I suddenly found myself hesitating to dig into my food, my mind straying from my hunger. Something nagged at me. Something uncanny. Mia's strange stupor, for some odd reason, reminded me a lot of my first encounter with Zoe earlier this afternoon. Thankfully, Mia hadn't thrown up, but she had reacted in a similar way - pained by something, and cut off from what she was about to say. Something about Texas. Going back. How she _needed_ to go back.

Just like Zoe, she sounded strained, desperate, her usually-calm, sweet demeanor taking on another shape that didn't suit her. Mia looked legitimately scared, for a moment or two, and I grew scared right alongside her.

My mind stuck for answers, I exchanged perplexed glances with Lucas, who shrugged it off, diving into his plate; and Jack, whose brow was set low with concern as he slowly chewed his food; and Zoe, too, who had, miraculously, flushed paler; and finally, Eveline, who offered me a tiny, optimistic smile that melted away some of my anxiety on the situation.

"You should eat, Joseph," she said, her voice soft. My stomach gave a cry after she mentioned the food on my lap. Mia had distracted me from how starving I really was. "You need your strength, back. And don't worry about Mia," she reassured me. "I think she just… remembered something."

"What do you mean?" I wondered, scooping up a forkful of rice and peppers and skewering a meaty slice of sausage. My trepidation soothed slightly, I shoveled the lot into my mouth, a quiet moan of flavourful satisfaction escaping my throat as the food hit my tongue. The kick of the spices prickled my tastebuds and sent a wave of fiery heat through my mouth and into my blood as I chewed through the soft rice, the peppers crunching between my molars and the casing of the sausage snapping delightfully with each bite.

Eveline took up her fork, running it through her jambalaya, her tone airy as she thought back on something. "I'm not sure - Mia told me that she went to Houston, once, with daddy. I guess that was what she was talking about. She must miss it."

I downed my first taste of jambalaya, visions of home drifting through my mind. Rent was due next month. Hopefully I'd make it back in time. "Well, it is a nice town. A _lot_ bigger than Dulvey. But I like it out here, too."

"What actually brought you to these parts, Joseph?" Zoe prodded, peering at me beneath her low, sleepy eyelids.

A dagger of panic sliced through my stomach, my breath catching. I had been praying that they'd never ask me about that night, as I tried to put it out of my mind as much as possible, so that I wouldn't have to relive it. But as much as I tried to convince myself of it, it was inevitable that they would grow curious. I know I would be, if I had taken in a stranger.

 _Shit,_ I thought. _I_ _should have come up with something to say sooner…_

"Oh! Well, er…" I began, grasping for a believable way to skirt around the truth. Even _I_ had a difficult time accepting what I had done - who knew how they would perceive me if I told them? I worried their Southern charms would fade if they found out the real reason I had wound up in that mudslide. I decided to cook up a lie. It was feeble, but at least I could try.

"I was just… er… just driving. Y'know, it's a big state. You drive a lot."

"Yeah, but if you're from Houston, what the hell were you doing out near _Dulvey?"_ Lucas chimed in, pointing the prongs of his fork at my face. "We ain't got nothin' in this backwater armpit of a town worth comin' to see."

"Uh… really? N-nothing at all?" I stuttered, watching my feeble fabric of lies begin to sprout holes.

"Hell, naw. This town is boring as shit," he griped.

"Lucas, what did I tell you about your language?" Jack growled over his food.

"I mean, er…" Lucas stumbled, his eyes shifting left and right. "There ain't much to do besides fish and shoot tin cans… And cow-tippin'... That's, er, what I meant…"

"Hmph," Jack grunted.

I felt a nervous sweat tickle my hairline as I burned, terrified, beneath the awaiting eyes of Jack, Lucas, Zoe, and Eveline. I had no other way out other than covering my tracks. I shrugged, the action sending a streak of pain into my wounded shoulder.

Gritting my teeth, I said, "I just took a wrong turn, I guess… I was heading home… I tried to turn back, and that's when the mudslide hit. And… you know, here we are."

I begged that they'd believe it. I mean, it wasn't _entirely_ a lie.

It seemed as though they were satisfied with my fragile words, though I wasn't too convinced with Zoe. Her pale complexion was set with a deep-reaching skepticism, her eyes hardening, her brow furrowing as she bowed her head and scooped jambalaya into her mouth.

"Well, we're glad you made it here alive. Hopefully we can get you back to Houston, soon," Jack said, breaking the momentary silence. "I imagine you miss your family somethin' awful."

My mind went blank. Holy shit - I had completely forgotten about my family. In all of the chaos of that day and the subsequent fallout, they had slipped my mind entirely. It had been, what, three days since I last spoke with them? Oh, God, that was a long time. _Too_ long, considering the circumstances.

My mother was going to kill me. Literally, kill me. I didn't want to even think about facing her wrath. My stomach hollowed out with a preemptive horror at the thought of fessing up to her and the rest of my family.

"Yeah. They're - they're pretty great," I murmured, heading back into my plate, pushing away thoughts of the people I loved.

Only now, I wasn't so sure if they loved me back.

In that moment, Marguerite and Mia returned, Mia continuing to apologise for breaking the plate.

"Mia, dear, don't you worry about it a spell. It happens to us all. You go on and eat your supper, okay? I'll take care of this," Marguerite cooed, setting down a broom with a light, wispy thump.

"I can clean it up," Mia offered. "Really, I can, mama. It was my fault, anyway."

"Hush, now, child. You eat your supper. It's not a problem."

Dismissed, Mia left and quickly returned with a new plate topped with a fresh heap of jambalaya while Marguerite swept up the mess on the floor. "There we go…" she breathed. "All cleaned up." She then retreated to the kitchen.

Casually, Mia settled herself into the puffy leather cushions of the loveseat, balancing her plate on her knee and setting her drinking glass on the side table. Taking up her fork, she lifted her head to my gaze between the weaves of her hair, smiling gently.

"How's dinner tasting? I'm starving," she laughed.

I returned her smile with one of my own, thinking back to her episode. Sitting there, so content, she acted as though nothing had happened, not shaken up, not worried. My mind was so set on figuring out what was going on that I totally ignored her words.

"You all right?" I asked. "That was kinda crazy."

"Oh. Yeah," she said, shaking her head. "I just thought back on something from… years ago. I'm just bummed that I broke one of mama's nice plates…" She batted her fluffy eyelashes at me, sparking a surge of heat to course through me, particularly into my legs. "Y'know, she's really pulling out all the stops for you, Joseph. She wants to impress you. We don't get too many visitors, out here. My parents have always dreamed of owning a bed and breakfast."

I snorted, amazed that anybody would want to impress _me._ I didn't consider myself someone worthy of such treatment. "Seriously? Well, you can colour me impressed, already. It was enough for you to save me from my car. That's all I needed to see."

"I hope we can continue to impress you," Eveline added, pulling my eyes from Mia and to her. She held the prongs of her fork against her bottom lip, her eyes shimmering. "We want you to enjoy your stay with us."

"Believe me, that's not going to be hard. You're all so wonderful. I couldn't ask for more."

"Speakin' of your stay…" Marguerite announced, breezing back into the living room. She made her way around the bed and found her seat once more, looking me straight in the eye. "We've got some plans to discuss, I think. Since healin' your legs will take some time, and with Christmas comin' up, and all, it looks as though we'll have an extra guest for the holidays. We hope you won't mind celebratin' Christmas Louisiana-style."

A momentary brush of shock pounced on my brain, breaking my train of thought. I didn't stop once to consider the holidays - not with everything that had gone on. For better or for worse - which, I was leaning towards the latter - I would definitely remember this year. Perhaps not too fondly, though. It would be infamous either way, that was for sure.

"I don't think it'll be a problem. What's a little change, right? And, honestly, Marguerite?" I started, raising my hands. She looked to me in earnest. "It'd be an honor to celebrate the holidays with you and your family."

Warm smiles spread around the room, the atmosphere growing tender. I thought I spotted Lucas smiling, even.

"Well, cher, we're please as punch that you're here," Marguerite said, looking upon me with a maternal affection that buzzed at my soul. "I just pray that your folks don't miss you too much. You ought to give 'em a call, let 'em know you're okay."

My smile faded a tad, thinking about my parents. I knew damn well that I didn't have the guts to face them in person. I doubted I had the guts to face them over the phone, either.

Finished with the subject, I quickly returned to my food.

"I will, Marguerite," I replied.

No. I lied.

* * *

And there you have it - chapter 5, finished and uploaded. This chapter originally described the next day, but the dinner scene ended up stretching longer than I thought. At least we can use this as a juxtaposition between the dinner scene in the game, right?

I hope you enjoyed it. Also, is anybody else as excited as I am that Resident Evil 7: Gold DLC is coming out in December?! If you haven't seen the trailer, yet, go and check it out. I just about died of happiness.

Anyway, keep a look out for the next chapter. I'll keep writing as fast as I can!

Cheers!


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